


until the candles burn down

by ragnarok89



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: War for Cybertron
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Different Character, Drama, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremely Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Music, Internal Conflict, Kidnapping, M/M, One Shot, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Drama, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Season/Series 03, Self-Hatred, Sequel, Triggers, Unresolved Emotional Tension, same name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragnarok89/pseuds/ragnarok89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oneshot. AU. TFP/WFC. It was difficult to explain how he felt, and what he felt about everything. Sequel to 'Pretty Wicked Things'. Set after Deadlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	until the candles burn down

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this fic is in a TFP AU where there was more than one fembot for both the Autobots and the Decepticons, and in this case, it’s referencing Slipstream, from War of Cybertron, as TFP takes place in the Aligned continuity.

The base was quiet, especially at this time of night. Ratchet was always awake during these hours, fixing whatever was broken or what needed tinkering. It was a force of habit; even when there was time during the day, he knew that it was easier said than done. It kept him focused, most of the time, at least.

After all that had happened, even after the war was won, he refused to sleep and give in to the satisfaction of the nightmares that visited him. Whenever he had tried to recharge, he felt Slipstream's servos upon his chassis, dragging them down, pain tremoring and sputtering in him; he felt his own Energon spilled by Predaking's unrelenting assault upon him; he felt so much distress in his spark, refusing to let go; he waited for death to claim him.

Ratchet shook his helm, the tool in his servo nearly slipped out his servo; he grasped it tightly. That was behind him. He survived. He was online. Still, he felt that he had to do something, anything to keep occupied. Most of the time it took his processor off of many things, especially what he would much rather forget.

Now it wasn't so easy.

He was a medic. He saved lives. Like any soldier, he got on with it. He did the job and he didn't suffer from anything. He tried to. He tried not to have nightmares of Decepticons, their enemies, especially of one femme who shouldn't have put her servos upon him, when he was their prisoner. He couldn't do anything to stop her; before he knew it, he was lost under Slipstream's grasp.

All for the sake of the Synth-En formula. All so that Cybertron would be reborn.

Would Optimus and the others believe him if he told them what happened? Maybe Optimus would understand, and perhaps Arcee would as well. But how many mechs would slap him on the back and say "Good for you!"?

It was difficult to explain how he felt, and what he felt about everything.

Megatron was no more, the Decepticons had lost, Cybertron was reborn, and Bumblebee got his voice back. Slipstream has escaped, flying off to who knew where, taking a cue from both Shockwave and Starscream. After they all made it back to the base, Ratchet took care of any injuries he and the Autobots had sustained. Then he took a decontamination bath, which he hoped would eradicate every trace of Slipstream's touch.

He still heard her voice. His spark felt as if it was caught in a vice.

He thought that if enough time had passed, before they had to go back to Cybertron, he would be able to move on from his imprisonment.

"Ratchet? You're still awake?" The medic didn't have to turn around to know that it was Optimus peering in from the doorway. Ratchet nodded silently. Optimus stepped inside the room, his footsteps instantly calming the medic, even with the tools in his servos.

"Something's bothering you, Ratchet. I can tell." Optimus spoke, his vocal processor low and somber, and his footsteps stilled as he stood a few feet away from the medic. "I understand that you don't have to reveal anything if you don't want to. You can talk about it when you're ready. We will help however we can."

The medic shook his helm, his optics narrowed. "I'm fine, Optimus. I'm just tinkering, that's all."

"I understand, but I do mean it, if there's anything I can do, then- "

"I'm all right." The medic quipped, his tone edging near irritation, even though he knew the Prime was looking out for his best interest.

"Ratchet, you've been through a lot. It will take some time before you can feel comfortable again, but if you're to move past this, you need to..." Optimus said before Ratchet suddenly slammed down his tools on the desk in one swift movement, the clanging sound breaking the peace that cloaked them before.

"I said I'm all right, okay?!" The medic snapped.

A hush fell between them. The Prime stepped back from the medic's workspace, and then the Autobot let his arms fall limp at his sides.

It was no use avoiding the subject now, and only time would tell if he was to say anything.

"I'm sorry, Optimus. It's just that…I-I still feel like I'm on the warship," Ratchet uttered, turning towards Optimus. "This feeling, that I have to work on something… it just won't go away. When I was working on the formula, I had to, I made a choice to complete it, and even before I had to…I…she..."

Optimus vented out a breath. He stepped in next to Ratchet. "It will take time. We have _a great deal_ of it." He glanced at the medic's servos. They were shaking.

The medic backed away from his workspace. He sighed, long and tired, looking at his servos; they still trembled.

Ratchet could never repay the debt that he owed Optimus, to them all. There was much that he had to hold within himself, much that he had to bear, but he didn't want to be pitied. No, not by a long shot, he wasn't one to be pitied, as he took care of anything he could fix.

Ratchet knew he could trust Optimus, with all of his spark. With one look from him, it was enough for him to try. The medic swallowed, and he struggled to speak, the words finding their way to cohesion.

"When I was captured, I knew that I was there for the Synth-En formula, under Megatron's orders. But…," Ratchet looked away for a moment, not meeting Prime's concerned yet listening gaze. He then forced himself to continue, to recall what happened. "But I didn't know that Slipstream, the Seeker, had her optics set on me. When I wasn't working on the formula, when I was in my cell, she…"

Optimus steeled himself for what Ratchet was going to say next. The medic knew that the Prime was doing his very best to stay calm. "She arrived and she propositioned that in exchange for the formula, we would engage in….in…"

"Take your time, Ratchet."

Ratchet clenched his servos tightly, a sinking feeling in his chassis. "We engaged in interface. That was it. I didn't stop her. _I couldn't_ stop her. I tried to push her away, I tried, but Slipstream basically had her way with me, saying that it was to make me feel good, when it didn't. _It did not_." Ratchet replied, his voice dripping disgust and self-hatred. He vented out a deep, shuddering breath, closing his optics for a moment, and then opened them in a manner similar to that of a sparkling plagued with nightmares. "She touched me and didn't stop. I thought that I wanted it, Optimus."

Optimus did his best to stay calm. "Ratchet, it wasn't your fault. You did nothing wrong."

"You think I don't know that?!" He wasn't sure if he did, truth be told. Ratchet pressed on. "She asked, and I didn't answer. I was too much of a coward to say no." He then covered his faceplate with one servo, his optics tinged with exhaustion, anguish and hatred, and he leaned against the wall right next to them.

Optimus felt a flurry of emotions in him. He clenched his servo into a fist. "You are not to blame for any of this, Ratchet."

The medic regarded the Prime with a look, weary, hurt, confused. He cast down his optics to the floor, the room illuminated by the soft ceiling lights above them.

Optimus took one step towards Ratchet and then placed a servo on the medic's shoulder, slowly and gently, with Ratchet's own servo on top of his own as a response.

It was a welcome gesture.

"It wasn't your fault. Slipstream took advantage of you and the circumstances of your capture. That is something that can never be forgiven. You might never get past this, but you're stronger than you think."

Another silence hung between them, one that felt longer than the first one. Ratchet looked up to Optimus and smiled slightly, a small and genuine one that softened his exhausted features.

"Thank you, Optimus," Ratchet replied, his vocal processor weary, and Optimus smiled back.

"I still don't know how to recover. I know that I have to, but I just don't know how."

"You will learn, old friend" Optimus replied firmly, "We all have time to learn."

They indeed did have time to learn, and being there for each other, ready to defend their home and for each other's sakes, was all that mattered now.


End file.
